


GHOSTED

by theficisalie



Series: Night Dust [5]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/pseuds/theficisalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the first time Grace has been left with the Radio Crew in the Desert, but with the memory of Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Jet Star and Fun Ghoul dying fresh in her mind it's the first time she's ever really felt alone. In order to save her friends, she has to find out who she is as a zonerunner: a task much more easily completed when the armies of the Better Living Industries are not hot on your tail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Killjoy

**Author's Note:**

> sorry it took so long.... ): ):

_MAYDAY MAYDAY._

_Red alert, Code grey second class. The grass has flown, the sun is gone, angelus sleeps in a bloody throne._

_Would the man with a song in his heart and his little bird friend join the flock of seagulls as they fish for a burst of static where the red fern grows. 速く進む, 警告, ばかな話._

_I repeat. There has been a code red on rainbow._

_To any of you motorbabies out there who have a clear conscience: keep your pedals to the metal, your hands in the air, and don’t pay no heed to any white noise because Killjoys never fucking die._

_Commence transmission loop: MAYDAY MAYDAY._

* * * *

Grace had thought she’d had a pretty normal childhood until her dad snuck a book for her when they were still living in their white City apartment.

All of the storybooks were about girls and boys who had two parents and who lived in houses with green yards. They went to school and sometimes they had siblings and dressed in pink frilly things. Usually they lived in big cities but some of the books were about kids who lived in neighbourhoods where they had lots of other kids as friends, or in forests where they made houses in the trees and helped animals. Sometimes they had magic and could fly; sometimes they turned invisible or got smushed flat, and sometimes they were just ordinary kids who were trying to learn a thing or two about the real world.

Grace’s life wasn’t like that. In fact, the list of things she didn’t have compared to the kids in the books was pretty well endless. She’d never seen a forest, she didn’t have a mom, and the only time she’d gotten to play with other kids was in the Day Groups back in the City, and then the boys never let the girls use their toys.

But now, now Grace lived in the desert, with her dad and three guys who were basically kids. Instead of playing board games, they shot cans and wrestled with each other, and sometimes when everyone left, Grace would play with her dolls and nobody made fun of her for that. And these boys actually let her use their guns and Kobra taught her how to kick Party Poison so he would fall over, which was pretty funny.

She used to think her dad was pretty normal too, before. When he worked in the buildings all day and came home at night. That was before the desert, before he worked all day just to protect her from the sun and acid rain and sandstorms and men in white who came to kill them. Before their newfound family picked up Fun Ghoul. Before they started running from his past.

Before she watched her new friends die.

Before she saw her dad come back from the dead.

* * * *

“NO.”

"Step on it, step on it!"

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Are you _bleeding_? Don't fucking bleed on my seat, dicksmack!"

"Hold her _back_ , hold her back! Don’t let her fall out of the fucking van. Fuck. _Fuck_. Why couldn’t fucking Kobra have come through the doors, Jesus Christ that is a lot of blood."

“Left here, Tommy.”

"Yeah, fucking drive would you? Stop staring at my fucking leg and watch the road."

“I’m fucking _trying_. Fucking get your goddamn shit out of my goddamn fucking face.”

“Fuck you, ow, drive fucking straight.”

“If I do that, we get shot full of fucking holes, motherfucker, shut up and let me do this.”

Everything faded to a low static and Grace strained against the arms holding her back. All she could see was her dad, thrown back on the hood of their beloved car by the light from a Scarecrow’s gun. It happened over and over again, until there was just the halo of his curls around his face left in her mind.

"Grace."

She opened her eyes, blinking past the images seared on her eyelids as the words broke through the bubble of numb silence that had formed around her. There were voices talking, yelling words she’d stopped paying attention to at some point. The sounds of the van's tires squealing on the wet pavement came back to her first, with Show Pony's quiet hiss when he looked at the singed hole in his tights where blood was freely seeping. She felt a spot of cold on her side: it was the metal tires of Dr. D's wheelchair. She belatedly realized he was waiting for her to stop straining for the door.

"Grace?" he repeated, his voice cutting below the static of Tommy and Show’s arguments.

"Yeah," she croaked, her voice hoarse from screaming. She turned away when he let her go, only now realizing she was crying and she didn’t want him to see.

The van swerved then, and Grace slipped away from Dr. D, falling with the motion of the car at the same time as Show Pony.

"Fucking drive straight, woman!" Show shouted, steadying himself on Grace. Why was he still wearing his roller skates?

“I’ll fucking drive how I fucking want to, fuck off!” Tommy shouted back from the front. “You want to die, fuckhead? Clean up your pansy cut or get these BLI shitheads off my back!”

Grace took a deep breath as Show Pony yelled at Tommy. Show was hurt, as clearly evidenced by the bleeding wound on his leg, and Grace had watched Kobra stitch up enough people that she thought she might be able to do it too. Dr. D was recording a transmission and broadcasting it through a static-filled channel and everyone else in the van was busy yelling so Grace slid away from Show Pony and dug the Doctor’s first-aid kit out from under the seat.

"Sit your shit down, Show Pony," Tommy snapped finally. "If you fucking brain yourself while I'm driving, you'll have only yourself to blame."

"Fine," Show said back. He skidded to the seats in the back, beside where Grace had buckled herself in.

She cleared her throat when Show calmed himself enough to stop tossing his sweaty hair out of his face.

"Hey," Show said, looking like he'd only just realized Grace was in the van as well. "Hi. Grace. Uh."

"He's tryin' to say that he's glad you're alive, angel," Tommy said.

"Yeah," Grace said, trying not to hear the unspoken "unlike your dad and his friends". "You got shot."

"Huh?" Show asked, screwing his pretty face up as he glanced down at his leg. "Ah, fuck, yeah. Listen, under the seat is a --"

Grace held up the first-aid kit. Show Pony gaped for a half second and then nodded. "Right, well, inside is the --"

"Salve, disinfectant, gauze, tape" Grace said, rattling off Kobra's preferred list of burnfix tools.

"Uh, yeah," Show Pony said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. "You really know your stuff, huh?"

Grace shrugged and reached for Show’s leg when he stretched the burn in her direction. She had to unbuckle her seatbelt to be able to get at the long-limbed man’s wound, and she found it hard to steady her hands as she got to work. “Kobra taught me a few things,” she said, not mentioning that Kobra hadn’t taught her to calm her nerves from jelly to steel in the face of singed flesh and blood. She got by well enough, with Show only letting out one high-pitched squeak when she first pressed the cloth with disinfectant to the open wound.

She let Show appraise his leg when she finished wrapping gauze around the burn salve and taped up the wound. “Shit, that feels good.”

“Not too tight?” Grace asked, sliding the first aid kit back to its home beneath the seat.

“Just right,” Show said. “I guess those crazy fuckers did a pretty good job of teaching you before they....”

Everyone fell silent and Grace gritted her teeth against the past tense, against remembering Fun Ghoul as he’d turned away from her and her dad only to get shot to death in that glass coffin of a building.

Show gulped. “I mean, uh. Be...before...uh...fuck.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Tommy snapped from the front.

“I don’t know the protocol here!” Show squawked. “Never had a fucking kid in the car with their parents -- fuck!”

“Dipshit!” Tommy shouted. “What about JJ? You fucking flatfish shitster --”

“At least I’m not a flatfaced fucking swervequeen --”

“Pinface --”

“Jackrabbit-eyed --”

The bickering was cut off by Dr. D, who cleared his throat, hung up his headphones, and said: “That’s enough.”

Show Pony looked chastised. Grace could only see Tommy’s sunglasses in the mirror, but the silence in the van was thick when D turned around from his seat at the mixing table, where he’d been belted in since the van had taken off so few minutes ago.

“No more name calling. Nobody in this car is six years old.” He removed his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And there’s no need to talk of the Killjoys like they gone forever..”

“Well, yeah, but,” Show said, glancing nervously at Grace before he cleared his throat. “I mean, what if they don’t come back this time? Ghoul’s already been back twice, why would he come back _again_?”

"Three times," Tommy corrected.

“Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of our fine feathered friends or their prey. So until our intel can get us word that the ‘Joys are good and incinerated, we’re going to operate under the assumption that they’re crawling and fighting back. I expect we’ll get a message from the inside any minute now. Grace,” Dr. D said, turning to Grace. “Why don’t you sit up front with Tommy and scan the stations for me.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Grace said, glad for the chance to do something, anything. She scrambled past Show Pony and over the central console in the front, careful not to jostle Tommy on her way.

The woman shot Grace a quick grin, which looked wicked sharp with the rest of her face obscured by her overlarge sunglasses. “Are you gonna be my zonebro, little angel?”

“I guess so,” Grace said. She returned Tommy’s grin with a smile of her own and reached for the dials as they sped through a long tunnel, heading for the endlessness of the dusty desert.

* * * *

It was a few miles of same-old-same-old sand before Grace picked up a signal on any non-BLND, non-WKIL channel. She was almost dozing off, her finger idly tapping at the “tune” button every few seconds on the van’s ancient radio when a dark voice caught at the corner of her ear and captured her attention.

She only heard one word, but that and the deep tones of the voice were enough to make her sit up in her seat and scramble to click back to the wave before it could disappear into the nether.

The word was: _“Sandman.”_

“It was KLSK,” Show muttered, his voice suddenly close to Grace’s ear.

She pushed his white hand away from the radio buttons. The Doctor had given her the task of finding the right signal, not Show Pony. She’d accidentally skipped over the channel but she wasn’t going to lose the signal. Not now.

“Go back, go back,” Show said.

“Shut the fuck up, crash queen,” Tommy snapped. “Let angel do her job.”

Grace’s eyes were swimming by the time she stumbled back to the voice, focused so hard on the dull blackongreen numbers of the radio frequencies.

_“-- be advised --”_

“There!” Show shouted, his voice quickly overwhelmed by Grace and Tommy shouting “We know!” in unison.

Show slid back to tug the Doctor their way, away from the radio console where he’d been scrambling and broadcasting for close to an hour now as Grace pressed the up button to get back to 106.2.

“It was two stations under KLSK,” Grace muttered to Show Pony, but she watched Tommy when the woman pulled their van to the side of the road, waiting for her signal.

“Crank it, motorbaby,” Tommy finally said, her mouth grimset.

Grace turned the volume dial as high as she dared, and...

_“Commence transmissions loop.”_

“Good job,” the Doctor said, his eyes approving when Grace checked his face in the mirror.

“Tedious fucking job you gave her to do I fucking hope you think she did good for it,” Tommy muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on her mouth.

“Everybody shut up,” Show muttered, as the transmission started again.

* * * *

_This is a message from the Sandman._

_Today at 1800h, the group of outlaws colloquially and collectively known as The Fabulous Killjoys broke in to one of the Better Living Industries’ downtown locations. Following this breach in their outer defenses, the Company rallied their forces as the Killjoys fought valiantly, trying to escape with their lives._

_They did not succeed in their attempt._

_At 1830h, the bodies of the Fabulous Killjoys were brought in for examination. This was documented in the Company’s public files, which are available at their website._

_At 1900h, the bodies of the four Killjoys colloquially and commonly known as Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid, and Jet Star were sent off for decomp._

_At 1925h, the incineration of the Killjoy corpses was documented in the Company’s public files, which are available at their website._

_You are hereby advised to not fight back or to hold mourning in any arena, as any mention of the Killjoys in public now carries a maximum sentence._

_This has been a message from the Sandman._

_End transmission._

* * * *

The silence in the van was palpable as the wave turned to static.

The dark voice said: _“Commence transmissions loop”_ and Tommy turned off their radio before anyone else could reach for it.

“Fuck,” Tommy muttered.

Grace stared at the radio, unwilling to look anyone in the eye. She didn’t want to see their pity, and she certainly didn’t want to see the video of her dad dying on the AM replaying in their pupils.

Dr. D said nothing for a long moment, and when Grace turned around, at the breaking point of wondering when someone was going to talk, she saw that D was staring at Show Pony.

Show looked stricken, like he’d personally witnessed the Killjoys burning to ash. His face was white, but Grace watched as the delicate line of his mouth moved down, down, down.

Finally, Show glanced around, eyes darting wildly from what Grace realized was Tommy’s eyes, to Dr. D’s, to Grace’s own, where they settled. She held her ground against his gaze, which was firm and on the edge of hard, and Grace tightened her jaw. She wasn’t going to cry. If Show Pony thought she was going to cry...

He looked away first, ducked his head down.

“I don’t believe it.”

“ _What_?” Tommy asked, jaw hanging open.

Dr. D’s head moved, and Grace saw that his eyes were approving. “Good.”

“Fucking what the fuck,” Tommy spat. “That was Sandman, D. Fucking Sandman, the...you fucking said that if he fucking said, it’d fucking be. Just because Show says --”

“I don’t just say,” Show snapped, eyes hard. “I didn’t just...D, I didn’t just say it. Grace. D. Come on, you heard the way he was talking, that wasn’t his usual speech, I...”

Grace tugged on a ring of her hair. Show Pony had looked like he’d believed whatever it was he’d been about to say, like he really thought this Sandman guy was lying.

“I did say that our intel would let us know what happened,” D said finally, when Tommy had calmed down enough to just be breathing hard in her seat.

“I don’t like false fucking hope,” Tommy muttered. “You know that.”

“That-- I know,” D muttered.

“I’m not gonna pretend they’re fucking alive if they’re burned to a, fuck. Grace, I’m sorry, I keep forgetting you’re --”

Tommy looked like she’d just stumbled over something she should have left hidden, but Grace was an empty shell operating on autopilot. None of this, the bright neon of the van or Tommy’s blood red lips, seemed at all real. A kamikaze crew who lived out of a van and surfed on static to get themselves fed? Right.

“All I know is that if Sandman’s telling the truth,” Show whispered, eyes closed against whatever he was afraid to see in Grace’s face, “I don’t fucking want to live in this world any more.”

“That’s our problem,” D said. He put a hand on Show’s shoulder and Grace watched as the slender man leaned into the touch. “That’s what Sandman is saying. If he is telling the truth, and I’m not saying he is, but if... well, that’s what he wants. He wants us and everyone out there to think they’re good and gone. See if we can hash it out without our long-haired friends to back us up. We’re pretty strong. Used to be at least. So we gotta act like they’re dead, but we don’t gotta think that they are. We gotta keep living for them.”

Show nodded, and Tommy nodded, and Grace realized the Doctor was looking at her and waiting for her to nod too.

Like she was part of their gang.

Everyone waiting for her to finish thinking so they could kick the rocks off their roof and drive down the road.

Only.

Only, Grace wasn’t a part of this radio crew. She didn’t belong in this van, with these people.

“I got one problem,” Grace said, and her voice sounded shaky but still strong even to her ears.

“What’s that?” D asked.

“You said, and Sandman said, and BLI said that the Killjoys were dead.” Grace said, forcing herself to not fiddle with her hair like she’d seen her dad do so many times. Like Fun Ghoul did when he was looking at Party Poison. Like Party Poison did when he thought Kobra Kid wasn’t looking. Like Kobra Kid did when he looked out at the desert, thinking about Thriller.

“Honey, we watched them die,” Tommy said.

“We know they come back, but you can’t come back if you don’t have a body,” Show said.

“That ain’t what I mean,” Grace said, folding her arms across her chest. “I mean the Killjoys aren’t dead.”

“They can’t be dead,” D said, a glimmer of a grin tugging at the corners of his eyes. “Can they.”

“No they can’t,” Grace said, and she grinned too. “My name is Grace and I am a fucking fabulous Killjoy. And I’m as alive as BLI is ever gonna get.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy Chow Mein, the blond-haired mistress of the radio crew’s van, seemed to operate purely on instinct. She elected to take one side road over another, following a long, bumpy road that Grace could only assume stemmed from Tommy’s intimate knowledge of the shape of the desert. She went left where Grace saw a sign to go right, offering no explanations for which direction she chose. There seemed to be no pattern to the path they were twisting through the sands, but Show Pony leaned over the console when they turned right at a particularly gnarled tree and asked, “Why’re we taking Thunder Canyon?”

They weren’t in anything resembling a canyon, and the road in front of them looked flat beneath the green-gray bushes that never even had to struggle to stay alive.

“River Road is taken,” Tommy mumbled. She glanced at Grace and smiled briefly. “A murder of Crows.”

The side roads Tommy elected to take instead of the Zonecrosser, Route 6, were bumpy and long. And hot.

“Air conditioning’s been broken since the day we stole this heap,” Show said when Grace mentioned the fact that she was drowning in her pillowy vest.

Grace stared at him in the rearview mirror. Suddenly his outfit, with all the skin showing, made perfect sense. She'd previously thought it was horribly impractical for the radioactive sands but with the temperature inside the van and the windows closed so D could properly broadcast his show, it would be insane to be anything less than nearly nude. "Why didn’t you steal a better van then?”

“Uh, we were being _chased_ ,” Show grumbled. “And then someone fell in love with this broken down shitpile.”

“Yeah, you,” Tommy said, snickering.

“No, it was Death!” Show exclaimed, sitting up. His scowl deepened when she laughed louder. “Fuck you, Tommy!”

Tommy didn't stop laughing until something hit their van hard enough to make it rock to the side.

"Shit, shit," Tommy said, her face focussed beneath her sunglasses. "Fucking whitemasked roba sons of bitches hit our tabernac of a vehifuckingcle. Show Pony! Get off your fucking ass!"

The car swerved wildly as Tommy attempted to shake their pursuers.

Grace looked in her side mirror at the grim BLI-faced masks hunting them. "Two Crows on wheels, Dracs in the car," she reported. Show Pony was at her shoulder, swearing under his breath as he tried to maneuver himself one-legged over the centre console, clearly trying not to use his injured leg. Grace glanced out her window and saw that the cheerily glaring Crow mask was coming up fast.

"Give me a gun," Grace said, her eyes on the Crow's face.

"What?" Show asked as Grace rolled down her window. "Fuck no! I'm not giving a gun to a--"

"Your leg, Show Pony! No way you’re getting up here in time to blast that son of a mongrel fuck. Give her a fucking gun!" Tommy shouted. They were barely on the road, and the Crow swerved with them every time she yanked the wheel to the side.

Grace held her hand out without looking. She had her eye on the sinister black face, calculating the angle of the shot she’d have to take to catch it between its eyes. She heard Show shouting vague denials and Tommy retaliating but couldn’t make out any of the words, just waiting for the moment when she felt cold plastic in her hand. She could see the Crow speed up to get level with her window as she whipped her flasher around, cocking it as she went. She pulled the trigger before the gun was all the way around, and when her light hit empty air, she took a deep breath, aimed, and fired again.

This time her shot hit home. The Crow slumped to the side and his bike fell over, kicking up sparks in its wake as it skidded across the asphalt.

“The kid can shoot!” Tommy shouted in triumph, and Grace wasn’t even conscious of Show Pony any more. At least he’d stopped grabbing at her arm. She only had eyes for the second biker coming up behind them, a white suit on a whiter cycle. She aimed her gun at it, but it ducked behind the van for cover just as she brought the flasher up.

“It’s coming up on my side,” Tommy said.

“Steady as she goes,” Show muttered. Grace watched as he cranked his slit of a window open at the last possible second, shooting the next. At least one of his shots caught the Crow in the back of the head, and it fell back.

“They’re dumber than usual,” Show said to Grace, like this was a casual moment for them.

“Their car fucking isn’t,” Tommy snapped. “Get that shit off my tail, they’re gonna catch our wheels.”

“Picky, picky,” Show muttered, then he jerked his chin at Grace. “Wheels and faces, angel.”

“Yes sir,” Grace said. She charged the gun in her hand, which she only now noticed was a bright lime green. So it was Tommy’s gun, then, because Grace knew that Show Pony’s was pink.

“They’re gonna try and kill you,” Show said. “They don’t have mercy built into their robot brains.”

Grace waved him off. She’d been in the AM during more than one car chase before. She’d seen Fun Ghoul duck out as quick as a whip to get his bearings, and how he moved the second time, like he’d already aimed and was now just firing his gun where it ought to go.

She’d never done it from the car, but when she peeked her head out to assess the situation behind them, with the wind and a score of light blasts whipping past her, she figured it was going to be just like that time she’d sat on the back of a motorcycle, with Fun Ghoul’s then-white gun in her hand and a Crow behind them at the wheel of his black, BLI issue motorized vehicle.

It had been easy that time, to use Fun Ghoul’s warm, solid form as a shield from the wind that had threatened to whip his gun from her hand. And it was easy now, as she steadied her trigger hand against the wall of air outside the van. She aimed for the dirt beneath the tire because her shots tended to end up higher than it looked like they would.

She had to brace her seat on the windowsill with her leg, because Tommy swerved to avoid something on the road and Grace’s first shot ricocheted off the mad grin on the hood of the BLI car. The next moment she let out her breath and steadied her hand, bringing it back up to shoot out the tire of the car. It stretched out for miles, that minute, as she looked the Crow at the wheel in the eye. It tried to keep its car going straight, and Grace grinned as she imagined the look of concentration on its face as she shot their side mirrors clear off the car before tagging their other wheel. The hot light burned through rubber in under a second and the car fell behind as the van kept going.

Grace ducked back inside as her heart pounded inside her chest and her hands began to shake.

"The motorbaby’s got skils!" Tommy crowed. Show looked impressed too, like he'd thought Grace hadn't been paying attention all of these years. Grace tried to hand the gun back to Tommy, but the woman waved her off.

“Where there’s one flock behind, there’s always two more up ahead,” she said.

“Why don’t they ever shoot out our wheels?” Grace asked. 

“They do,” Show said. “That’s why we have Tommy.”

“And kick shields where we can hang them,” Tommy added. “Your daddy thought that one up, said if we could put as much metal down as we could, we wouldn’t end up stranded in the middle of zone 4 with no tires and a busted foot.”

“Which didn’t happen,” Show Pony said.

“No, that last part’s definitely hearsey,” Tommy said, but she was grinning. “Shit, Angel, you really can shoot though, can’t you?”

“Or she got lucky,” Show grumbled quietly.

“You’ll have to shoot cans with her when we stop for fuel,” Tommy said. “Then we’ll see who’s lucky. This one hung around Fun Ghoul for years, Show, you think she didn’t learn something from that lasereyed bastard?”

“Fine,” Show said. “Cans if we’re alone in an hour.”

“I want a gun,” Grace said.

The van fell silent.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Show said, looking uncertain.

“If I win,” Grace said, turning in her seat to meet his eyes. “If I beat you at cans, I want a gun.”

“And paint,” Tommy muttered.

“And paint,” Grace repeated.

“It’d be a real desert promise then,” Tommy said.

Show Pony shifted behind them and offered Grace a tentative smile. “Like a contract.”

“You couldn’t legally have said no to me,” Grace said.

“That’s a cryin’ shame,” Tommy said.

“Done,” Show said. He spat in his palm and extended it towards Grace.

Grace wrinkled her nose but what was a little bit of saliva compared to a gun?

“It’s a deal.”


	3. And now, for something completely different.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music is against the law, citizen. Do not press play. Do not rewind. Do not pass go.

_[Children of the Gun Master Mix](https://www.mediafire.com/?pg4rtf7bj7aa4in)  
Tracklisting._

1 - Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na); My Chemical Romance

2 - Baby It's Cold Outside (The Killjoy Remix); DJ T Pruss  
 _A selection from songs played on the streets of Battery City._

3 - O... Saya; A. R. Rahman/M.I.A  
4 - Techno Jeep; Julian Smith  
5 - I Know What I Am; Band of Skulls  
6 - Drive It Like I Stole It; Apathy  
7 - Black Dragon Fighting Society; My Chemical Romance  
 _Colour._

8 - Bang! - Database Remix; Empires  
9 - Bulletproof Heart; My Chemical Romance  
10 - Bullets; Tunng  
11 - Hello Lover (Acoustic); Empires  
12 - Little Lion Man; Mumford & Sons;  
13 - God's Gonna Cut You Down; Johnny Cash  
 _Death/Victory. End of Desert Heat._

14 - Black Sheep; Metric  
15 - Television, Television; OK Go  
16 - You Make Me Feel (Breathe Electric Remix); Cobra Starship  
17 - Alpha Dog [Bonus Track]; Fall Out Boy  
 _Joe Trohman's theme song._

18 - If; House of Heroes  
19 - Hips Don't Lie; Shakira  
 _Alarm song. Leak in Rat headquarters discovered by Fabulous Killjoys._

20 - Headfirst Slide Into Coopestown on a Bad Bet; Fall Out Boy  
 _Sandman's theme song._

21 - Anna Molly; Incubus  
22 - Dangerous Blues; The Young Veins  
23 - All These Things That I've Done; The Killers  
 _Frank meets Blackbird._

24 - Planetary (Go!); My Chemical Romance  
25 - Telephone; Pomplamoose  
26 - On the Floor (feat. Pitbull); Jennifer Lopez  
27 - Party Rock Anthem; LMFAO  
28 - Buckets For Bullet Wounds; House of Heroes

29 - Hospital Bed Crawl; The Hush Sound  
30 - Monster Hospital; Metric  
 _Frank taken apart + stitched back together._

31 - F.T.W.W.W.; My Chemical Romance  
32 - Thriller; Fall Out Boy  
 _Pete Wentz's theme song._

33 - Dangerous; House of Heroes  
 _Kiss Kiss Bang Bang wiped from Frank's memory._

34 - Lights Out; Mindless Self Indulgence  
35 - Blow; Ke$ha  
36 - Witchcraft; Pendulum  
 _Patrick Stump's theme song._

37 - Love Is a Crime; Chicago  
38 - Dress Me Like a Clown; Margot & The Nuclear So and So's  
39 - Lights; Ellie Goulding  
40 - Remains; Maurissa Tancharoen & Jed Whedon  
 _Sing. PRODUCT/(white+dream). End of Runaway Scars._

41 - Downtown; Petula Clark  
42 - Mastas Of Ravenkroft; My Chemical Romance  
43 - Come Away to the Water (feat. Rozzi Crane); Maroon 5  
44 - Vampire Money; My Chemical Romance  
45 - No Reason; Sum 41  
46 - Ain't No Rest For The Wicked; Cage the Elephant  
 _Killjoys Never Die._

47 - Fixin To Thrill; Dragonette  
 _TBA..._


	4. Hat Trick

_Listen up and listen loud, motorbabies. I've got a blast from somebody you used to know. Over the river and through the woods. Make sure to play hide and seek, motorbabies,we plan on picknicking and pickpocketing as long as we please. At 0400 the light in the night will give you wings and get you to fly. Don't get snipsnapped up now, run along to our favourite muse, Muse. This is Butterflies and Hurricanes to soothe your grinding gears._

*

Translation:  
 _Over the river and through the woods_ : Wolves running home. Connotations of phrase: allusions to old fairy tales, taken by the Wolves to mean they are mirroring Little Red Riding hood, as evidenced by the following line of the song itself: _To Grandmother’s house we go_. (Not spoken here but implied.)

Grandmother’s house: one of the few remaining structures in the vast wastelands the desert dwellers called home. Refuge of infamous sub-station radio crew headed by DJ Hot Chimp, frequented by News-A-Gogo. Also the home base of twins JJ, scooped from the gutters of Battery City just before they were scooped up by S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agents, hereby referred to simply as “Scarecrow”.

 _Make sure to play hide and seek, motorbabies, we plan on picknicking and pickpocketing as long as we please_ : Be careful, avoid cameras, wear masks at all times. Another quote lifted from a pre-bomb childhood song about teddy bears having picnics. A more common line to speak would have been “If you go down in the woods today, you’d better go in disguise!” but as the feeds are often monitored by BLI Head Office, best to dig deeper in the song and get the code monkeys scrambling to decode for the higher ups. The wording, changed from last time the song was referenced, would mean that BLI thought they were getting close.

Picnic: food will be provided, likely stolen from the station ghouls on the I90 (pickpocketing), but bring your own drink to share.

A handful of throwaway codes rendered essentially worthless by their context, but words that should tip BLI into thinking that the desert crews should be planning an inner city raid-and-rave, though it was more than likely that all Rat and Snake hidey holes would be suspiciously empty at 0400 hours.

 _Light in the night_ : threefold meanings. Code for explosive diversion, used to draw the company's eye away from the parade of misfits. Lesser used meaning: a new source of hope has been unearthed from the desecrated ruins of their beloved home. Notably used upon the Fabulous Killjoys' first group resurrection, though not most would have picked up on that underlying subtext. Used previously when Thriller first banded the tunnel dwellers and escapees together, and thanks to a good tip found Cobra and his soon-to-be gang of renegades. Also used when Alpha discovered and shared buried blueprints for a super weapon originally designed to be a city killer that was now on the cusp of being built into a company killer.

And lastly, the third meaning, designed specifically for three sets of ears. Alluding to a pre-war mythical creature who lived only at night and sprinkled golden dust into peoples' minds to create dreams.

It was the use of this phrase that made Patrick straighten up and accidentally knock over a glass full of green liquid that, upon a closer inspection, was not going to come out of his antique carpet.

The loss of a priceless item was hardly important to the knowledge buzzing around his ears. He tapped his pen on his notebook five times, finished scribbling his note and looked at the translation he was originally going to hand over to a secondary radio jockey. It had been rendered unsharable by the last line he’d accidentally written while deep in thought and would be tossed in a garbage fire on his way out the door, but he took a brief moment to observe his handiwork before shooting off to the zones.

In any other circumstance, the phrase with three meanings would only have two, but as Patrick himself had come up with the drug-inspired phrase that had followed it. Give you wings and get you to fly, a reference to a hyper caffeinated beverage, the sort of things that BLI's forces were in charge of creating now. It could therefore mean only one thing of import, which was almost unheard of.

Sandman was coming home.


	5. Alpha Dog

Howls echoed in the distance. Three short. Pause. One short, one long. Pause. Two short, one long, one short. Pause. One short.

Alpha Dog scowled beneath his mask. Not that anybody could see his face, or that anybody was around. The scowl was just for him. He wasn’t entirely sure why, either: The wolves were howling the all clear, he had almost all the parts he needed for his weapon of mass destruction, an old ally was coming back to meet them. All in all, everything appeared to be going his way, for once.

So why was he so unhappy?

A screech of tires on the nearby strip of airport tarmac marked the entrance of one of his wolflings, a minion sent to deliver news by hand or mouth. Probably something stupid from the good Doctor like “The eagle flies at dusk”. Something that nobody except Hat Trick could even understand.

This place was a fucking joke.

But it was also home. And change meant that he might lose everything he’d fought so hard to keep.

Midnight scrambled off his motorbike and flicked the visor of his helmet up. “Doc’s on his way. Has a van with that little curly-haired girl they rescued when the Killjoys got all shot up.”

Alpha’s scowl deepened. “And News’ messages?”

Midnight shrugged. “Same. Rapid-fire japanese, followed by one word. Sandman.” He rocked forward on his toes and twitched his nose to the side. “Can’t mean what I think it means, right?”

“Sure as shit does, son,” Alpha said. He felt like spitting. The motherfucking Killjoys were supposed to be a light in the darkness, hope for the brokenhearted or what-the-fuck-ever Thriller had been spouting then. Cover, at least, for his quarter of the operation. A distraction. The Crows had been flying a bit too close to Wolfblood beaches, sticking their nosy fucking beaks where they didn’t belong. But the Killjoys had to go and throw their own flair all over the Building Corps.

“Isn’t true what else they say, is it?” Midnight asked.

“Huh?” Andy asked. Shot up, left to die, back to life… what the fuck kind of creatures were the Killjoys? He’d seen too many good men get shot by bullets then poison then laser beams, and not a fucking one of them had ever stepped up after _days_ lying out in the desert sun. _Days_. Maybe Sandman really was right about the pills, which was a scary thing to think about. He tried not to think as hard as possible almost all of the time, but when you hid out in a murder desert for decades, your thought process had to be snappish-like.

“That Blackbird’s ready,” Midnight said.

Alpha turned his wolf masked head a fraction towards the kid (he was 30 but he’d only been in the zones a year, it counted). “Can’t be.”

“They say they seen ‘em,” Midnight said, shuffling on the tarmac. “If Sandman is involved… if he’s coming here...”

“What makes you think Sandman’s a dude?” Alpha asked.

“I– uh– I just–”

Alpha barked out a laugh. “You’re too easy.”

“Shit,” Midnight muttered. “Well, anyway. I delivered the message. Rendezvous soon at the usual house. The blue one.”

“Yeah,” Alpha said.

MIdnight nodded, flipped his visor back down and sped away on his bike. All the wolves had switched to bikes once they’d stolen a few Crow cycles and taken them apart. The blistering sun was always a danger, but most of the city kids didn’t mind the heat or the pink skin. They didn’t get burned like Alpha did, so he kept his sleeves long and his mask on as much as possible.

Sandman was definitely right about the pills.

Alpha scratched at his mop of curly hair, itchy beneath the faux fur of the mask, and climbed on his motorbike.

It was almost time.


	6. Thriller

Thriller stepped back from the table and gave the gun a once-over look.

“Well?” Grace asked, her mop of hair bobbing anxiously. “What d’you reckon?”

They had been using only the finest of paints on Grace’s new gun, won by her expert marksmanship. Show Pony was outside, still bitter that he’d been beat by a little girl and then another little girl; when he’d started saying it wasn’t fair, she’d been more ready than him, Jenny popped out from behind a bench, shot up a storm around his hopping legs, and in the silence that followed, said: “Look! I made a mousemat.”

After that, Show Pony stomped off in a huff to do some shit with the radio, probably. Thriller hadn’t seen him or Dr. Death-Defying in a while.

“To be honest,” Thriller said, folding his arms across his chest so he would look Truly Pensive, “Ain’t my call at all.”

Grace frowned. “How’m I supposed to know if it’s good or not?” The ghost of a worry flittered across her face, knitting her brows closer together as her eyes widened. “What if everyone thinks it looks stupid?”

“Listen,” Thriller said. He got down on one knee, not that he had to to be her height because he was not the world’s tallest man, and Grace was growing at an alarming rate. “Ain’t nobody out there that can tell you your gun’s good or bad except you. Got it?”

“But–“

“And if they make fun of you, you know what you do?”

Grace shook her head, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

Thriller grinned. “You shoot ‘em with the gun they’re mocking.”

A few surprised blinks and a surprised, slow smile later, Grace nodded. “Okay.”

“Attagirl,” Thriller said. “Now we can leave this here beauty to dry if you reckon she’s good.”

Grace looked at the gun, and Thriller saw the gears turn in her head. “Yep,” she said. “She’s good.”

She’d chosen not to colour the gun with a base, which was a bold move on her part as far as Thriller was concerned. There were four rings of colour around the barrel of the gun, one for each Killjoy. Thriller thought it was sweet, sad, and he had initially been worried that she wasn’t making the gun her own, but then on the right side she had painted the stop sign from her favourite hat. The left proclaimed in black text that dripped like water down a drainpipe: “Reader beware”.

“I figure I can add some more later,” she said, tapping one of the white spots. “When I grow up.”

“Sweet cheeks, you just might not need to.”

Thriller looked up from where he had previously been overflowing with pride at the little zonehopper. “Holy shit,” he said. “You came.”

Alpha Dog kicked the door shut behind him and pulled off his mask. A ragged face emerged, hair an unrulier mess than Grace’s. His eyes held a thousand years of pain in them, and his toil showed in the rest of his face as well. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days from the worn-out circles under his eyes, and Thriller spotted no smile marks around his mouth.

“You actually came,” Thriller said again, and then Alpha’s face broke into a grin that could cut glass.

“‘Course,” he said. “I always listen to Trick’s messages. Heard it was time for a meeting of the families.”

“Shit,” Thriller said. “Come here.”

He hadn’t seen Alpha Dog in two years, hadn’t spoken to him in three, or hugged Alpha Dog for the better part of a decade. But he wasn’t going to let this be another Blood Moon Chronicle, so Thriller stepped around Grace and wrapped his arms around one of his oldest friends. “I can’t believe it,” he said.

“Well do,” Alpha said. When he pulled back, Thriller saw the ghost of the man he once new. Almost like he was waking up from a long sleep. “Man, how’d you get so tan? I can’t stand that sun.”

“It’s just my base shade’s darker than yours,” Thriller said. He hadn’t laughed for real since the Killjoys had died for the second time. Or was it the third?

Dr. Death rolled through the living room doors and poked his fingers at the trio. “Everyone in the conference room in ten minutes,” he said. “It’s about to rain.”

 

*

 

Grace trailed behind Thriller and Alpha. She didn’t come all the way into the room, because even though Jack and Jenny were present, the living room full of wolves, cats and strangers felt like they were way more adult than she was.

Thriller let go of Alpha Dog when he caught sight of a tiny redhead with a cap on. “Hat Trick!” he exclaimed. He pretty well launched himself at the man, who said: “Thrill, we saw each other yesterday” with practiced exasperation.

The excited conversation of long-lost brothers and sister washed over Grace. She knew nobody in the room except the people who’d driven her here and Thriller. She did not belong here.

“Strange, huh?” Tommy’s voice cut through the clamour like a hot knife through butter.

Grace looked up at her and shrugged. “I guess.”

“You feelin’ strange too, lil’ Killjoy?”

Grace shook her head.

Tommy smiled and nodded. “Well, I’ll do the honours. First up we have our crew, the Danger Van, and Thriller. You know those. You also know the Snakes, that’s Thriller’s whole crew.”

“Cobra?” Grace asked. “And… all them?”

“You got it,” Tommy said. “Thriller runs below the streets. Hat Trick, that guy in the hat, is king of the Cats. They run messages and translations all across the desert and the city. Talkin’ to the Ghouls, the Wolves, the Snakes. I hear they even talk to the Rats.”

Grace nodded like she understood.

“Now, the Wolves is the gun-runners and the tech slingers. They’re in possession of a territory called Wolfblood Beach. Nobody knows if it’s really a beach, if the water’s radioactive, or if it’s something else. Nobody except the Wolves.”

“And Hat Trick?” Grace asked.

Tommy nodded. “And Thriller. Way I heard it, little Chow Mein, is that these three are the first ones around who broke out of the pills. Started changing things around here. Started changing the rules. But way I hear it? They’re not the only ones.”

Rain started to fall on the house, the pitter patter of gnomes stomping around on the roof was familiar and soothing. “What do you mean?” Grace asked.

“Well, they started out as four,” Tommy said. “But nobody knows what happened to the fourth one.”

“I heard he runs the stations,” Show Pony said, propping himself up on a banister near the two girls.

“Oh, shove off,” Tommy said. “No way. We hear his _transmissions_ , Show. No way he’s in the stations.”

“So what, so he’s got an emitter hooked up to a gas pump somewhere,” Show said. “It’s believable.”

“Right,” Tommy said. "By which I mean, no fucking way, man."

“But who’s the fourth one?” Grace asked. She’d always thought that Dr. Death-Defying was first.

Tommy and Show Pony both gave Grace a blood curdling grin and whispered in unison: “The Sandman.”

“Order! Order,” a voice in the middle of the room called. The punks of all different sizes, shapes and colours, all huddled into the living room of the once-a-house, quieted down slowly. Eventually though, you could have dropped a cricket in the middle of the room and you could have heard it sing. Uh, if Grace knew what a cricket actually _was_ , that is.

Thunder clapped outside, shaking the walls of the house.

“We come together tonight not for ourselves,” Dr. Death-Defying said, in his booming radio voice. “But for our brothers and sisters. We come tonight because the Killjoys laid down their lives. We come tonight because we lay down our lives every single day.”

Wolves whooped, Snakes cheered, Cats looked sort of bored but also a bit excited. Outside, thunder clapped again.

“Hey,” a kid with a red mohawk shouted. “How are we supposed to trust anything anyone says now? The Killjoys are _dead_.”

Thunder boomed outside, and this time it didn’t stop. The roar got louder, and louder and louder, and then, like the switch of a key, it stopped.

As it turned out, that’s exactly what it was.

There were more than a few shouts of surprise and alarm when white-coated troops marched into the cabin. Every gun in the place was lit, and Tommy tucked Grace behind her.

At the front of the v formation, the man in white, the only one without a gun, pulled off his rain-streaked motorcycle helmet and ran a hand through his thick, brown hair.

“Your Killjoys aren’t dead. At least… not yet.”


	7. Sandman Part 1

The city skittered by outside the train windows, bright lights weaving themselves into the tapestry of a sunset fading on hundreds of thousands of windows, all the same size, all the same shape, but all facing the horizon a little bit differently. The original builders of the City knew what they were doing, but then again, back before the bombs hit everything had been about finding beauty where there was none before– and then selling it to the highest bidder. Now, everything was about being the same, about keeping down the change as best as you could.

“ _Next stop, sir,_ ” the Scarecrow to Mark’s left said. “ _Thirty floors up, two doors down, to your left_.”

“That is correct,” Mark answered, an almost reflexive reply now. Protocol was supposed to be soothing, automatic. It was supposed to feel natural with the Company’s new direction.

The train slowed down in the same place as it did every day except Saturdays, Sundays, Wednesdays and days he specifically requested off. What was never quite the same was the way the sun glinted on his building, the way it washed his spacious apartment in golden reds. Shadows were never the same, never quite where you expected them to be. Just the way he liked it.

He was a shadow, too.

 

*

 

1: “Come on.”

2: “Just one more, dude.”

1: “You can do it!”

3: “Okay, okay, okay.”

2: “Did you hear that? No way, he’s going for it! Yeahhhhh, chug, dude!!”

3: “‘Dude’? Don’t you think we’re more civilized than that?”

2: “Uhhhh, whatever? Okay, weren’t you drinking?”

3: “Alright, alright.”

4: “You guys are nuts.”

 

*

 

“Are we ready to proceed with human trials?”

Mark scribbled a figure on his clipboard, replacing an _x_ with an _n_ and a _43_ with a _42_. After all, it was the meaning of life, so it was fitting that it would be the number he’d use now. He let himself smile at the joke, a remnant from an old, broken society with nothing but time on its hands.

“Is there something funny, Doctor Lewis?”

Dr. Takahara’s eyebrows were drawn together in what Mark recognized as her ‘lightly cross’ facial expression. The woman didn’t make many, and they were subtle, but there was a difference between _light_ and _full_ when it came to her levels of emotion. She was reserved, either from her upbringing or from her preferred choice of pills, but then, Mark wasn’t sure if she still took them. He sure didn’t.

“Not at all, Dr. Takahara,” Mark responded. “Or should I still be calling you that?”

The corners of Dr. Takahara’s eyes tightened for a flash second and then her face relaxed into neutral again. “To what are you referring, Doctor Lewis?”

“Don’t play coy,” Mark said. He tapped his pencil on his page three times, scanning it over once, twice, three times. “I am talking about your promotion, of course. To Director of Surveillance Operations.”

“Ah,” Dr. Takahara nodded curtly. “Yes. Well, thank you.”

“I daresay, we’re almost equals now,” Mark said, flashing Dr. Takahara a quick smile. When her eyebrows moved past _light_ towards _full cross_ , Mark let his smile widen. It was all about timing with her. One had to be careful not to actually piss her off, she _did_ know how to eviscerate a live person better than any of his students, and she usually did it with the sharp sword at her hip. “That was simply a little joke, of course. Our positions are not similar at all. We have always been at the same level, separated maybe by a few days on either side, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah,” Dr. Takahara said. If Mark could get her stuck in a loop, he could check this conversation off as another win. 9,355 for Mark, 9,255 for Dr. Takahara. Since he started keeping track, anyway.

Wait for it.

She nodded curtly. “Yes. Well.”

And…

“Thank you.”

9,356 for Mark.

“I would agree with you, Doctor Lewis.” She paused a moment, then sniffed delicately. “You have not, however, answered my question.”

“Hm?” Mark asked. “Oh. Well. You asked if I thought anything was funny earlier, and I think I’ll have to revise my previous answer to a yes. What’s funny is your timing on showing up in my laboratory because I do believe the formula is finally ready.”

Dr. Takahara’s left eyebrow twitched upwards and settled back down. “The subject has been resilient thus far to all of our best products, Doctor Lewis.”

“Did you come to ask if we were ready or did you come to question my judgment?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Takahara said. “The timing is simply… suspicious.”

Well, they hadn’t promoted her because she was known for being _tactful_. “Keep in mind, Dr. Takahara, that this is simply the first human trial. Thus far, the subject has surpassed all of our expectations. You noted in my hypothesis that not every individual will be suited for this course, but neither are they suited for Operation S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W or Operation Draculoid either. This one, especially, appears to fit all of my qualifications for the trial.”

“Very well,” Dr. Takahara said. “I will give you the go ahead if you believe the subject is ready.”

Mark tapped his pencil on his page three times more and then slipped it into its place in the manila folder. “We’re going to start production, Madam Director,” he said, and closed the folder.

“Doctor Lewis,” Dr. Takahara said, closing her eyes for two, three seconds. “What is that on the cover?”

Mark looked down and smiled, this time for real.

“Don’t tell me you’ve _named_ it already?”

“Dr. Takahara, no operation is complete without a name,” Mark said. “Names give things life.”

“So the first Blackbird is going to be–“ she squinted at the folder and shook her head. “Korse?”

“Catchy, isn’t it?” Mark asked.

Dr. Takahara shook her head again. “I will never understand you medical types,” she muttered. “I expect a full report when the trial is complete,” she said, almost like an after note.

“Of course, Dr. Takahara,” Mark said. “Apologies. Director Takahara.”

Director Takahara nodded curtly, but there was a ghost of a smile hidden in her face.

That wasn’t quite a win, but she hadn’t smiled in a few months so Mark was going to add it to his list anyway.

9,357

 

*

 

The wind howled outside the door, its screams clawing their way through miniscule cracks in the radio-proofing that lined every edge of the shelter. Five minutes. He only had to wait here five more minutes.

Andy looked at his watch and desperately wished the second hand still moved. Something inside the device had broken exactly 2 years, 4 months and 14 days ago, when the first bomb had hit Manhatton. And even though that was nowhere near Chicago, Los Angeles or Washington, peoples’ watches had stopped working all over the country.

Four minutes.

“Is he even going to show?” Pete asked, small and dark in the corner. “I don’t think he’s coming. I bet they got him.”

Patrick let out a long, low sigh. He always got tired about halfway through the down spell of Pete’s mood swings. They seemed to be getting worse and worse with every passing day, every passing wind storm.

“He’ll show,” Andy said. “He’ll show.”

Three minutes.

It felt like they’d been waiting in the shed-slash-bunker all day but it had really been more like an hour.

Pete huffed out a breath of air. Pete scratched at the peeling wood grain of the wall. Pete gave Patrick a sad, lingering look. “I don’t think Joe should be the runner anymore,” Pete said.

Patrick pulled his hat down further. He’d gained some weight since the bomb had hit, the opposite way it should have gone. Andy figured it was the stress and the fact that they’d all four been cooped up what seemed like twenty four seven for the past week and a half.

Two minutes.

“He’s too slow,” Pete said, when nobody answered his complaint.

“Hm,” Andy said. “You got a better solution?”

“I think Patrick should run.”

Patrick frowned.

One minute.

“Maybe,” Andy said.

“If he comes back,” Pete said.

“He’ll come back,” Andy said.

The wind howled again, walls shaking like they were going to come uprooted from their concrete foundation and then Joe was yanking the handle open and nothing outside mattered any more.

“Well?” Pete asked.

Joe revealed a scowl when he pulled off his bandana. “Hi Joe, thanks for running Joe, we missed you, Joe. Fuck, Pete. Where are your goddamn manners?”

“Who was she?” Pete asked. To Pete, business came first.

“The lady we saw when we were raiding that diner?” Joe asked.

“Who fucking else?” Pete asked.

“Dunno exactly,” Joe said.

“She’s in the city though,” Patrick said. “Are they rebuilding there? I heard they were.”

Joe looked at Andy beseechingly. “We need a better system. We can’t do this forever.”

Pete sniffed. “Well, I have an idea. But first, dish.”

“Okay, alright,” Joe muttered. He grabbed the bottle of water Andy held out for him and drained it before sitting down. “I didn’t catch her name or nothin’, but I got a glimpse of the logo on her car. Sort of startup-lookin’, black and white, nothing special. Said ‘Better Living Industries’.”

“That’s who’s been on the radio recently,” Patrick said. “Remember, Andy?”

“Yeah,” Andy said. They’d been catching glimpses of frequencies coming out of the city nearby, some place that wasn’t quite Los Angeles anymore. They were low, soothing sounds that made the hair stand up on the back of Andy’s neck. “Better Living Industries. BLI.”

“I stole a card,” Joe said, slapping it on the table. “Looks like a key card.”

“It is a key card,” Andy said. “You only need those for high security places. What the fuck are they doing with something like that?”

“I heard rumours that they’re helping out in the city,” Patrick said. “Giving people water, helping them find shelter.”

“Pills,” Pete said. “They’re giving out pills, too. Supposed to help with the sunburn.”

“It sounds bad,” Joe said. “Whatever they’re doing.”

“I have an idea,” Pete said. “But I’m not sure yet.”

Joe shook his head. “There’s dust in my ears. Maybe I should nab some pills, see if they work. My ears always get blistered out there too.”

“Not yet,” Pete said.

 

*

 

Mark tapped his pen on the table. Short, short, short. Long, long, long. Short, short, short.

“Chief Doctor Lewis,” Director Takahara said, her lips twitching almost imperceptibly with the beat of his pen. “Did you have something to contribute?”

Mark cleared his throat and straightened his pile of papers. “Yes, Madam Director,” he said, stowing his pen in his pocket. His heart was racing, but he didn’t let the beat give his hands a shake. “At the start of our meeting, I mentioned that I had an update to Operation: S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.”

Director Takahara tilted her chin up a fraction. “Ah, yes. As you all know,” she said, tilting her head to the businessmen sat around the table, all with blank faces and blank smiles, “We have been developing our next round of super soldiers under this particular Operation. Our first was a rousing success, with a few flaws of course but as the first trial, it is only to be expected. There were a few things we have been looking forward to showcasing with the next round of trials, and hopefully, Chief Doctor Lewis has good news for us.”

The businessmen turned to Mark almost as one – they had at one point been wealthy investors, but now were just another cog in the Industries’ machine, thanks to the extremely powerful pills they took on a daily basis.

Hopefully, Mark had good news not for them, but for _himself_. “Yes,” he replied. “I do have good news. We are now ready to advance to the next set of human trials. I have a suitable candidate who has passed all the same tests our other candidate did, and I believe he will also be able to pass my final test for the program. If he is a success I also have a third candidate ready to be lined up.”

The businessmen clapped. Director Takahara beamed, which for her meant a curt nod at Mark and a twitch of her lips in an upward direction.

He’d count it as a win, but he’d given that up a year ago, and started counting his wins against the company instead.

Today put him at 10.

 

*

 

They stood, side by side, in a small room with a glass front. Mark tapped his fingers on his arm in a distracted rhythm. He’d been a drummer once, before the war, and he still remembered the patterns.

Inside the room they were observing, people streamed in, all dressed in identical jumpsuits, almost all of them wearing their white socks.

“Which one is your candidate?” Director Takahara asked Mark, her voice low.

One of the people in line, a small man with white hair, was mumbling under his breath a stream of nonsense. Well, not nonsense, but to the Director, it would be. The one beside him, the one without socks, looked mildly alarmed and shook his head just the tiniest bit.

“Is it that one?” she asked him, her black eyes cold. “That sounds like complete nonsense coming out of its mouth. We don’t have any bees in here. Why isn’t the other one wearing its socks? Chief Director Lewis, if you think you can fool _me_ –”

“Shh,” Mark said. “Trust me, Madam Director. I’ve chosen well.”

“That’s quite enough,” Korse said to the lineup as he marched into the room. Director Takahara practically swooned. He was her favourite of Mark’s projects, and Mark was glad to have made her one so she would leave him in peace. He was pretty sure this next one would be his favourite.

Evidently Korse had been listening every bit as closely as the two of them because he got the Draculoids involved, pulling the two of them apart when the muttering one tried to grab the candidate next to him.

“Now he will explain what they are doing,” Mark said to the Director. Her greedy eyes were on Korse, who gave the men a thorough rundown.

“Today we’re going to be doing something new. You might have noticed that you get less rashes and you run faster now than you did when you first came to us. If you haven’t, then I’m telling you now that you’re becoming resistant to our pills and therefore are of no further use to us in this program.”

Mark leaned over to the Director. “And now he will explain to you just how I know my candidate will prove he is ready.”

The Director squinted her eyes a bit, but as Korse held the floor, she did not issue an argument.

“Today we are going to dispose of those of you who BLI no longer considers an asset. Rawlins,” Korse said, and he turned to face the mirror wall. He gave them a respectful smile, and even though he could not see through the mirror, Mark was sure the Director believed he could. “I’m so thrilled that you’ve volunteered to be our demonstration. What I want you to do is fight for your life.”

“Ah,” Director Takahara said, as Draculoids surrounded the shocked man. “Your candidate will be the one left standing.”

“Yes, Madam Director,” Mark said.

“If he is left standing against my Draculoids, I wish to see him reset,” the Director said. Her eyes glinted with cold glee as the Draculoids fought against the prisoners, many being cut down as though they were made of butter. Perhaps they saw their inevitable fate and gave in rather than fight and lose. At least that way it was their choice. “If he can survive that…”

Mark shook his head and smiled. “You would be surprised, Madam Director, at what Frank can survive.”

“Frank,” the Director said, raising a cool eyebrow. “Such a common name for such a special project.”

Mark shrugged. “The psychiatrists told me it would be easier to retain the reflexes and instincts if we didn’t take away the whole being of the person. I can only do as I am told.”

Approval, finally, showed in some dark corner of the Director’s face. “Yes, Chief Doctor Lewis. I do believe that is true.”

Mark smiled back. That marked 11 wins now, and soon it would be 12.

 

*

 

“Why do you want to work here?”

Andy tried not to take a deep breath. He tried to steady his shaking hands and meet the eyes of the cold, square-headed man in front of him. “Well, as you know I have recently graduated from medical school and I believe this would be a good opportunity for me to put my skills to the test.”

“But why here, Doctor.. Lewis?”

Andy nodded. “Mark, sir. Doctor Mark Lewis.”

“Why do you think that the Better Living Industries is the right place for you to be, Doctor Lewis?”

“I heard, through a colleague of mine, that you run experimental trials here.”

The cold man scowled. “Nonsense, we do nothing of the sort. We merely try to make the everyday man’s life easier. With the bombs and the sky and the radiation, we just want our citizens to be comfortable.”

Pete had said they liked cleverness, liked boldness here, and only if it was going to become their weapon to be used. So Andy leaned forward and affixed the man with an equally cold look. “Listen, sir. You can cut the bullshit with me. Sorry to use such coarse language, but I know that my source is reputable and simply speaking, I want in. I specialized in neurological and physiological studies and I believe I can be a real asset to your company. My thesis project was on manipulation of the different parts of the mind. And if you don’t mind me saying, sir, I know that’s what you do here and I know I can make it happen ten years more quickly than you’ve planned.”

The cold man looked thoughtful now, but still scowled. “Very well. We will review your resumé and call you if you are a worthy candidate. Don’t call us, Doctor Lewis… we’ll call you.”

Andy shook his hand and left.

Later that evening, over dinner, Pete asked how it had gone.

“I think I fucked it up,” Andy said. “You said be bold but I don’t think I di it right… I think I fucked it up.”

“No way,” Pete said. “If you did what I said, then we’re one step closer to freedom, my friend.”

“Yeah what, in twenty years? Fuck, that’s a long time,” Joe said, piping up over his fire roasted hot dogs.

“Twenty years for us maybe,” Pete said. “But for kids born in twenty years, they’ll have a lifetime of freedom, you guys. Not much we can do to save ourselves, but we can sure as hell give the next kids a fighting chance.”

He turned to Andy then, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me. I’m right on this one.”

As it turned out, he was.


	8. Sandman Part 2

__**From the desk of Chief Doctor Mark Lewis  
** Head of Neuroscience, Senior Chairman  
Better Living Industries 

_8.22.2017  
Case no. 234896_

_Pulled 234896 off streets last night. Was with a woman who evaded capture. Didn’t fit the profile anyway so I instructed the Dracs to let her go. Fought nicely but went down. Will have to give him some lessons._

_Personal property confiscated from the prisoner:_  
1 ID card, Frank Iero, age 24  
1 set of keys (apartment?)  
1 bottle of pills, empty, name on bottle: Torbin Ecatz (stolen, will test if used by pills’ turnaround time tomorrow at 1500) 

_8.27.2017  
Case no. 234896_

_Frank is exhibiting all of the symptoms Korse did with none of the aggression. Resilient to the allergy tests, skin is demonstrating it is only allergic to the perfumes and chemicals but not to the UV light in allergy room. Other patients showing signs of blistering/bleeding/boils, etc._

_System was clean when we tested blood on entry, no pills used for at least a few months. Good at evading capture, smart. Will keep improving stamina in running rooms now that allergy tests are positive. Hope to be ready for final trial in a week._

_8.29.2017  
Case no. 234896_

_Found the other candidates. All fit the profile. Ready to send Frank to start his trials and commence the next Blackbird initiation. Have begun administering pills to other candidates to prepare them for trials._

_9.24.2017  
Case no. 234896_

_Frank passed the final trial today. Scarecrow almost destroyed the specimen but he remained intact. One of the Directors favourite doctors stepped in and stitched him back together. She was not happy with the way the trial went, but it’s not her trial. I know what I am doing. Time for the next stage. She has demanded I fast track another Blackbird since this one has disappointed her “standards”. I have one ready, but it looks like she is going to try and take over the program. Hope it doesn’t turn out like another Korse… or worse. She chose this candidate and I am worried. She even picked out a name: Kenneth. I don’t understand how that woman’s mind works._

_9.25.2017  
Case no. 234896_

_Specimen released. Case closed._

 

Director Takahara threw the case file against the wall. She had torn up every last corner of Chief Doctor Lewis’ office but had found nothing. No answers, only more questions.

“What is the profile?” she snapped. “Why didn’t I know about the successful UV light penetration? WHY ARE THERE FOUR CANDIDATES SITTING IN MY BUILDING, ALIVE AFTER BEING SHOT?”

The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W team lining the wall shuffled around anxiously. They did not get nervous, they were not programmed to feel fear. But the Director made them afraid.

Director Takahara picked up a lamp off the desk and threw it against the same wall she’d thrown the case file at. “I want the screens on, and audio feeds live,” she seethed at the white masked men.

As they scurried out of the room and away from her wrath, Director Takahara took a last look around the office. Chief Doctor Lewis would not be happy when he came in from his day off, to see the mess she had created. But maybe he would be able to answer her questions and help her deal with the “Fabulous Killjoys”. She hated the name almost as much as she hated the people wearing the name.

She had spent the entire day and entire night searching through Better Living Industries for any scrap or shred of evidence that might tell her who had been stealing Blackbird pills to give them to these aberrations of nature. Nothing. Who knew who else had been taking these pills? Were the rest of the citizens feeling restless?

She wanted to scream but instead she fingered the hilt of her sword.

She’d find who was behind all of this and behead them with her sword if it was the last thing she did.


	9. Sandman Part 3

Much like a king, who might sit in a loft-ceilinged and gilded throne room looking out over his loyal subjects; chaos reigned over the small shack. Every gun was drawn, aimed and ready to fire, everyone was shouting at different intervals, and not a single person remained seated.

At least, for a brief moment.

Andy savoured the seconds as they ticked by, from the moment he stepped foot into the cabin to a few quick breaths after he took off his helmet. The tension in the air was palpable and the _colour_ was unbelievable. Andy hadn’t seen colour like this for about a decade, and it was _glorious_. Watching reruns of desert fights on the Director’s private television feed didn’t count as far as he was concerned.

The shouting and effervescent waving continued until Thriller stepped forward –– or should Andy say _Pete_ , it might almost be safe now to call him that.

“You need a fucking haircut, my friend,” he said, and the smile that split his face in two could have lit up the skies all the way to the moon. He stepped right up and wrapped his arms around Andy so tight, he thought he might break.

The others that he knew personally were smiling as well: Patrick, with his lopsided hat and surprisingly trim figure and Joe who Andy hadn’t seen a smile out of in far too long. To be fair, it was because he was usually wearing a mask on surveillance cameras for fear of getting caught by BLI or the sun.

“Well,” Andy said when Pete finally stepped away from him, “If you hadn’t insisted on pulling your people out early I _would_ have had my regularly scheduled haircut. There’s only one person I trust to get it right.”

“Wow,” Pete said. “I get to see you finally after all this time and all I hear is whine, whine, whine.”

“Okay, hang on,” said one of the brightly-coloured desert dwellers. Andy recognized him as one of Patrick’s runners, code name Ritalin. Pete hadn’t given him the names of any of his people, which Andy could appreciate. The kid’s skin looked clear of all sun damage but his eyes shone with the fierce twinkle of intelligence. Andy patted himself mentally on the back for that one. No permanent brain damage but all the positive effects of the anti-radiation pills.

“Hang on to what?” Pete asked, snickering. Always blasé in the face of danger.

“Yeah, I think we have the right to know why there’s a herd of fucking Scarecrows pointing guns at us,” another one said. A woman, with long blonde hair. Goldilocks probably, there were two women in the group with blonde hair and for some reason Andy always mixed them up.

“I believe the proper term is a ‘flock’,” someone from the back said.

“No way, it’s a ‘murder’.”

“Well, I like the sound of that one,” Andy said, pointing to the voice in the back. “Give that guy a raise.”

“We don’t get _paid_ here, you fucking asshole,” a lanky woman who ran with the Death Defying crew snapped. Andy had been keeping an eye on her because she had the little girl hidden behind her. “It’s not like the beaurocratic-blood-sucking-fucking company here. And why are we letting this cocksucker stand while he still _breathes_ , can anyone tell me?”

“Hey man, watch it,” Cobra said, inching towards her.

“Watch what?!” Tommy Chow Mein said, her eyes ablaze. “Watch me as I fucking shoot whoever invited the company to hunt us down in our last safehouse, huh?”

“Technically that would be Thriller,” Cobra said, “But you don’t know what you’re talking about, girl.”

“I’m not a _girl_ ,” Tommy snapped, and then everyone was shouting again, waving guns and generally being as mayhemic as they had been were before BLI and its mood dampeners arrived.

Andy looked over his shoulder at the Crows. They all still had their masks on and guns out and he gestured for them to dispense of both. Every Crow except for one pulled off their masks, and slowly, the room quieted.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between,” Andy said, “I would like to introduce you to some people who you may want to thank. Now, don’t get your underwear in a fizz-mess,” he said, holding up his hands to quiet the uproar before it began.

“I believe we discussed a visual truce,” Pete said, and when Andy nodded, he turned to address his people as well. “One of every crew, please step forward.”

Reluctantly, and with scowls on every face, the crew members stepped towards their perceived enemies.

“Pass over the guns,” Pete said, and when they complied, without prompting, every white suited Crow put their guns, triggers to the sky, into the hands of the brightly-coloured wastelanders.

“Very nice,” Pete said, to the shocked faces of his people.

“I still don’t think we should believe you people aren’t here with trackers,” one of the snot-nosed wastelanders said from the back.

“Motor Babies,” Doctor Death Defying finally said from his wheeled throne. “Don’t you know who it is you’re speaking to?”

When silence finally fell, Andy shook his head in mock disappointment. “Not even a guess from anyone?” Andy said. “I’m offended.”

“My sweet, innocent gas gunners,” Doctor D. said, with a mad grin. “That’s the motherfucking _Sandman_.”

If a pin had dropped, you wouldn’t have heard it because the floor was covered in dust from the recent storm. But figuratively, you would have because nobody opened their fat mouths for yet another pause.

“And I have with me someone I think at least one of you will recognize,” Andy said, and now he only had eyes for the little girl with big eyes and bigger hair. He gestured to his left, where he knew the still-masked Scarecrow was standing to pull off her mask.

Upon seeing her face, Grace’s tan skin became an ashen grey, and without a sound, she dropped to the ground in a dead faint.

And then the uproar began again.

 

*

 

Several hours passed before Pete and Patrick were able to quell the outrage and indignity of their populace, but it was only several minutes before Grace woke up.

The Scarecrow Andy had saved just for this purpose was knelt at her side when she did, across from Tommy who was still scowling.

Grace, however, had a look of pure disbelief in her eyes. “Momma?” she asked, in a whisper, reaching a shaking hand up to touch the woman’s face. “Are we dead?”

Grace’s mom laughter sounded like the chorus of angel wings. Andy hadn’t heard it for almost a decade. “No, sweetheart.”

Grace struggled to sit up, refusing Tommy’s help when it was offered. “Are you sure? You were…” she stopped herself, took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut tightly to stop the tears from escaping. She couldn’t, quite, but she must have felt like she had a grip on herself enough to reach for her mother with her eyes wide open.

The reunion was too sweet, and Andy knew he would have to cut it short at some point. He and Joy had fought hard to keep Grace pill free and out of the city’s greedy claws, and it was almost time for her to step up to the plate. They had placed all of their lives on the line, betting that someone, somewhere, could stand up to the Company.

It wasn’t fair to Grace. She was only a kid, after all, and she shouldn’t have had to face the world the way she had been forced to all of her life. It wasn’t her fault that capitalism had made people hungry for more, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that a group of people had decided that the best way to get a one up on their neighbours was to completely annihilate them with bombs that spewed toxic radiation across the globe.

But they were going to make damned sure that she had a choice in the matter. She was just a kid, but she had the right to choose whether or not she was ready to die.

“Well?” Pete asked, an eyebrow raised.

Andy nodded slowly. “I’ve got one more item on my checklist. You?”

Pete grinned. “All done, brother. Ready to roll. Alpha Dog?”

Joe was scowling, as per the usual. His ears had definitely gotten worse over the years, but Andy was fairly confident that a cream he’d been working on for the past decade would cure the prevailing itchiness for good. He patted his left pocket and, yes, there was the sample tube he’d filled a week ago in preparation for his sudden departure. He pulled it out and tossed it to Joe, who gave it a suspicious once over before opening it up and putting it on his right ear.

“Doesn’t work,” he grumbled.

Andy shook his head. “You have to give it a few minutes. The instant relief tests all yielded heavy drowsiness, nasty rashes and a tendency to shoot before asking questions. Not that you need any help with that last one.”

“Ooh, big boss with a big mouth,” Joe grumbled again, but he put the cream on his other ear before slathering it on the back of his neck. The skin was red and mottled, which would probably never go away. But at least maybe he’d feel like himself again.

“How long do we have?” Patrick asked, fiddling with the brim of his hat. He’d lost about a hundred pounds, it looked like. And he looked…happy.

“Not long,” Andy said. “The Director probably figured out I left about two hours ago which means we might have five minutes to spare before we have to leave.”

Patrick’s lips thinned into a line. “Give them the rundown and we’ll get moving then.”

Andy nodded. “Joy,” he prompted gently. He hoped that mother and daughter had both hugged, laughed and wept. They wouldn’t be able to catch up ten years in such a short amount of time, but hopefully it was a start.

Joy stepped back from Grace but held her hand. “Yes, sir. I am ready.”

“Alright, you sorry dogs,” Thriller said. “Dogs, cats, boys, girls, please settle down. This here is my good buddy Sandman, as you all know. He’s been undercover with BLI for who even remembers how long?”

“He could be a double agent,” someone piped up.

“But I’m not,” Andy said. He wasn’t protesting the claim, just firmly stating the truth. “The Killjoys are alive, but we won’t be for much longer.”

“How can they be alive?” Show Pony asked. “We saw them die.”

“The Company has been feeding you all some ripe bullshit,” Andy said. “But here’s the ripest of all. Some of the drugs they have been feeding the people weren’t just to suppress emotions or free will but to kill it completely. My team and I have been collaborating for years on drugs that can be taken to permanently get rid of the radiation problem, and we come to you now with that drug. It works so well that the ray guns you all use, which themselves function on basic radiation, don’t do much more than stun after enough of the drug.

“Unfortunately, your Fabulous Killjoys were unwilling participants in these programs. Kobra Kid and Jet Star both signed waivers when they briefly worked Company jobs and were given the experimental product. Jet Star’s wife is here with us today, having signed the same waiver which also gave her consent over him and his child. Poison Party unknowingly took some of Kobra Kid’s medications when they lived in the city, and Fun Ghoul…” Andy stopped, but Pete gestured for him to continue.

“Fun Ghoul was the second Blackbird to be commissioned by the Director, with the strongest dosage of the drug.” Andy paused there, to give the crowd a moment to understand what they had heard.

“Tell them what you’ve been planning, sir Sandman,” Pete said, with all the graciousness of someone who wants to receive credit for a plan themselves.

Andy rolled his eyes. “At your Commander’s discretion, we have been preparing for a full takeover of the Company.”

When the crowd didn’t immediately go wild, Pete scowled. “What, you ungrateful lot? No cheers? No jeers?”

“Well who you gonna replace the heads of the company with?” Tommy asked suspiciously.

Andy looked at Pete. Pete wiggled his eyebrows at Andy.

“Oh you lovebirds gotta stop that, we ain’t got time,” Joe growled. “We can replace it with anybody we want, motorbabies! As soon as the current heads of state as it were are finito, and people in the city wake up, we can have a citywide vote on the restructuring of power.”

“And Thriller would head up BLI,” Patrick said. “With Sandman as his chief doctor, me as communications director and Alpha Dog as security. If you all don’t object.”

"And if you do object,” Pete said with a wolflike grin, “You can all vote on it with your equal shares of the Better Living Industries Corporation.”

Silence fell for a moment and then one of the small kids piped up: “Does this mean we have to get a proper job and stop hunting Dracs?”

Pete shrugged. “You can do whatever you want. Any people going around with masks on after our takeover are fair game. And you probably have until a city government is erected to suffer consequences for crimes committed under the partial leadership.”

“Well it sounds a shit lot better than running for our lives every god damned second of the day to me,” Doctor Death-Defying said.

“Everyone who’s in to bust out the Killjoys and take down BLI please meet with your respective leaders,” Andy said, hands in the air. “You are all dismissed.”

He turned then, as murmurs and then shouts filled the room, to look down at Grace. “Now I have something to ask you, Grace,” he said.

“What is it, Mister Sandman?” she asked, suddenly shyer in front of her mom.

“You are the only person in this whole part of the world that we are aware of who has been drug free their entire lives,” he said to her, walking her over to a quieter part of the house as the road runners behind them were getting rowdier by the minute.

“So what?” she asked.

“So,” he said, “In my opinion, we absolutely need you to come with us to Headquarters.”

Her eyebrows lifted and face lightened. But she was still cautious, a good trait in today’s dark times. “You want me to be a Killjoy?”

Andy laughed. “Well said,” he said, making sure she knew he wasn’t laughing at her. “I sure do. I have a good plan on what to do once we get in the building, but to be perfectly honest with you the Director is a nasty piece of work. She can cook up a scheme so rotten that going in there could get all of us permanently killed, including you. But I think we still need you, because whatever she does, the likelihood that it will affect someone on the drugs are higher: she only has drugged people as test subjects after all.”

“But sir, Sandman, sir,” she blurted, a look of panic suddenly freezing her features and draining some of the colour from her skin, “She had me! Sir. Last week! She could have been studying me!”

Andy nodded. “That’s the risk,” he agreed. “That’s why it’s up to you and not me whether or not you come along. You get the final say in this, Grace. And I’m not going to pressure you: if you don’t come we still stand about the same chance as if you do. I have a plan for if you come and if you don’t.”

Grace thought about it, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and tapping her right index finger on a ray gun Andy had noticed but not looked too hard at before. It was mostly white, with sparse decorations and he smiled. Even if they lost this battle, something so pure had come out of all their struggles. In a way, it was better if she didn’t come along, but if Andy knew anything, it was Director Takahashi. He was sure she was waiting for him with something that would stop him in his tracks.

“Okay,” Grace finally said. “But I get a Killjoy name then.”

Andy nodded. “Absolutely.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed, those huge eyes in her tiny face shining with a light so fierce Andy knew could outshine the sun. “From now on, I'm Ghost,” she said. “Until this all ends.”

“Ghost,” Andy said, with a smile. “It’s perfect.”


End file.
